Julia London 4 Book Bundle (75 page)

“Stanwood doesn’t love her and he never will, Claudia,” he said, still staring out the window.

“Is that not for Sophie to decide?” she asked gently.

“Absolutely not,” he snapped, turning to face her. “He is a blackguard, a man of despicable morals, questionable tastes, and violent temperament! He is known to treat women cruelly, he hasn’t a shilling to his name, and he wants her fortune, nothing else.”

“But how would you truly
know
that?” she tried to reason.

“I know of his reputation, Claudia—”

“Reputation!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “Do you know the horrible things that have been said of me? Lies and untruths! You can’t possibly form your bad opinion of a man on the basis of gossip!”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t think to lecture me, madam.”

“She
loves
him, Julian. If you banish her—”

“I am not
banishing
her!”

“Then what would you call it, sending her to Kettering Hall?”

Angrily, he stalked toward her. “I am keeping her safe and well! It is my responsibility to do so, and I will thank you not to interfere!”

“I am only trying to have a rational discussion—”

“I did not
invite
discussion. This is not another of your social debates, Claudia, it is my duty as her guardian and protector to decide what is best for my sister! Hell, it is my moral obligation! And it has
nothing
to do with you, so you might as well run along and find another charity to promote!”

He might as well have punched her in the gut. She leveled a heated gaze on her husband. “You do not value my opinion in this.”

“Good
God!
Not only do I not value it, I couldn’t possibly care less what it is!”

Her sympathy had quickly given away to furious indignation. “You promised to treat this marriage with respect—”

“I promised to save your reputation! Do not romanticize it,” he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Oh, God, there was no danger of that! With an angry toss of her head, she marched to the door. “Thank you, my lord, for your audience. I know it was quite an imposition on your time,” she said. “I shall tell Sophie that she was right—you
are
a pig-headed beast! But I shall also tell her not to lose hope. We will find a way!”

“Splendid,” he drawled, and gestured for her to leave. “Scheme away, why don’t you. But she goes to Kettering Hall
tonight
.” With that, he seated himself and picked up the book he had been studying and opened it.

He was dismissing her, just as her father had done all her life, insinuating that she was more irritant than anything else. How the devil had she ever thought she cared for him? She turned sharply and sailed through the door, slamming it shut behind her and determined that Sophie would follow her heart in spite of his tyranny.

Julian felt the violent slam of the door as well as he heard it. He stared blankly at the pages in front of him, and after a moment, turned the book around so that it was right side up.

I just wanted to ask if you ever had the pleasure of being in love
.

His chest constricted painfully with the discomfort; he
closed his eyes, pressed his fingers into them.
Was there never a time you thought you might simply perish without her
?

Oh, yes, Claudia. Each and every day.

Damn her, he knew
exactly
how Sophie felt—it was one of the many reasons he wanted her away from London and Stanwood. She did not deserve to know the pain he felt, but deserved so much better than that, than
Stanwood
—except that the idiot girl thought so little of herself that she believed he was her best chance at happiness.

And how exactly did he dispute her? It wasn’t as if
he
could point to a marriage built on mutual respect and esteem. His only option was to protect her from herself.

The trip to Kettering was more unbearable than he had imagined, beginning with the ugly departure from St. James Square. Claudia would not even look at him. Pale, she clung to Sophie, whispering in her ear as Sophie sobbed against her shoulder. They clung to one another so fiercely that Julian seriously contemplated forcing Claudia along just to get Sophie into the chaise. But at last Sophie let go, apparently giving in to defeat, and Julian had fairly stuffed her into the chaise. As they pulled away from the small courtyard onto St. James Square, Claudia called out to Sophie, reassuring her that Eugenie and Ann would never stand for this injustice, either. Worse, old Tinley stood beside her, hunched at the shoulders and shaking a liver-spotted fist in the air at his wicked employer.

Things went steadily downhill from there. Sophie sobbed uncontrollably as the chaise weaved slowly through the narrow streets of London. Just when Julian thought she couldn’t possibly shed another tear, the wailing would begin all over again. When they reached the outskirts of London—and he was fairly confident she would not bolt from the chaise—he made the driver stop so that he could climb up on the seat with him, much to
that man’s surprise. Julian perched beside him, wincing and pulling his hat lower and lower with every wail that drifted up to them, until the brim of his beaver hat practically covered his ears and eyes.

Fortunately, they were treated to a full moon, which made their travel easier, but Julian imagined every village through which they passed must have believed a madwoman was escaping, so loud was Sophie’s fury.

They reached the mammoth Georgian house that served as the Kettering seat by dawn’s first light. Sophie had long since sobbed herself to sleep, and as Julian lifted her in his arms, he was reminded of the many nights he had carried her to her own bed after she had crawled into his, having been frightened by thunder or something under her bed.

How extraordinary that little girl had become the woman in his arms.

He hated Kettering Hall.

So much did he despise his country house that he left before the sun was directly overhead, with very little sleep and what little breakfast he was able to choke down. He took a horse from the stables instead of the chaise so that he might quickly escape this tomb of memories, and left a wretched, sobbing Sophie in the foyer, held firmly in the thick arms of Miss Brillhart, Kettering Hall’s housekeeper. Miss Brillhart, bless her, understood the situation quite clearly, and had urged him on. Julian tried desperately to close his ears to Sophie’s plaintive wail, had even tried to reason with her one last time, but she wouldn’t listen to him. She called him a beast and a few other choice names, and in the end, he had been forced to walk out the door without looking back.
He was doing the right thing!

Perhaps, but he avoided the family cemetery all the same, riding around the north side of the estate so he would not have to see the remnants of another time he had supposedly done the right thing. The elaborate headstone at Valerie’s grave—an angel, rising high above all other markers—was the constant and stark reminder of
his attempts to protect another sister. Or rather, his bloody failure to save her life.

A cold shiver ran through him; with a hard spur to the flanks of his mount, Julian tried to push the memory of the unhappiest event of his life from his mind by pushing his mount. In truth, Valerie had always been sickly, although she had seemed to improve in the last two years of her life. At the prime age of eighteen, a year or so after Eugenie married, Julian had taken her to London for the Season, squiring her to all the best soirees and balls. She had loved the whirl of activity, and though she was pale and a little too thin, she had captured the attention of more than one young fop.

It was in the course of that spring that she contracted the fever that decimated her.

After a fortnight, she had not improved, and Julian could recall even now that dull, aching fear that had lodged in his heart. Instinctively, he had sent to France for Louis and Eugenie and at the same time brought the finest doctors to Valerie’s bedside, insisting they try every remedy, even those they claimed experimental. Nothing seemed to work; Valerie’s illness dragged on, weakening her. In complete desperation, he had brought her to Kettering and the long-time family doctor who had nursed her since she was a baby.

He had been, Julian bleakly recalled, quite convinced Dr. Dudley could cure her one last time. To that man’s credit, Dr. Dudley had tried everything he could. Nonetheless, Julian had almost strangled the kindly doctor when he at last said aloud what Julian already knew deep in his soul.

Nothing could save Valerie.

It was only a matter of time.

Except that Julian refused to accept it, railing violently at anyone who dared try to console him. So Dr. Dudley had reluctantly sent to Bath for a colleague who had experimented with some promising new medicinal combinations. Dr. Moore came at once, examined a delirious Valerie, then very clearly warned Julian that his new
elixir was highly experimental and perhaps even deadly. But there had been no other option—both doctors agreed she surely would die without it.

Julian ordered she be given the elixir. He had done what was best for her.

But the poor girl reacted badly to the potion, and was too frail to withstand the ravages of the prolonged fever. He did not leave her side, even when exhaustion pushed him to the brink of collapse, but within days, she slipped quietly into eternal sleep while he held her in his arms and begged her to live.

The pain, dull astonishment, and fury with God had almost destroyed him. He had loved his sister with all his heart and could not bear to think he had helped to kill her, had broken his vow to his father to keep her safe and well.

His mount crashed through a grove of trees, but heedless of the low-hanging branches that slashed at his arms and legs, Julian drove the horse forward.

He had loved Phillip, too, like a brother. Phillip, who had been his constant companion since they were lads, inseparable into adulthood. Smaller than the other Rogues, Phillip had always been something of a ruffian, always pushing the very boundaries of propriety and societal acceptance. Julian had long thought his behavior was a sort of unconscious effort to make up for the lack of physical stature. But after Valerie’s death, he began to view Phillip’s conduct with increasing apprehension. It seemed
too
ribald, even for Phillip. Nothing seemed to satisfy him; not copious amounts of whiskey, not gaming, not his pick of Madame Farantino’s women—even two of them at once.

The horse burst through the tree line and into an open meadow, and Julian bent low over the steed’s neck, urging him faster.

He had tried to save Phillip, too. At first, he had offered enough money to clear the enormous debts in exchange for Phillip’s sobriety, if only for a time. Anything would have been an improvement. But Phillip
had scoffed at his offer, thanked him for his needless pity with not a little sarcasm, then heatedly swore that if Julian ever called his character into question again, he would gladly shoot him without a single thought.

Having throughly wounded Phillip’s pride, Julian could do nothing but keep a silent vigil, choosing to accompany his friend on lewd excursions that repulsed him, convinced that if he was with Phillip, he could at least keep him from harm.

And then came Claudia.

Julian slowed the roan, released his grip of the reins and straightened, rubbing the nape of his neck to erase the familiar despair that was suddenly raging through him.

Claudia Whitney had walked into that ballroom and had turned everything upside down. He had known, of course, that Phillip had set his blurred sights on her. It had actually amused him until that night, until he saw her again for the first time since Valerie’s funeral. Nothing was ever the same again. Oh, he continued to accompany Phillip along his path of debauchery, and on the rare occasions Phillip was sober, he even attempted to persuade him to change his conduct—but not nearly enough or as strongly as he should have. No, no, no, not enough at all, and he and the Lord above knew very well why he had not. Because, thank you, he was hopelessly besotted with the Demon’s Spawn.

He had loved Phillip, truly loved him like his very own brother … but Claudia was right. He had killed him; at least helped his death along.

Rather a dangerous pattern you have established, old boy
. A wild shout of laughter tore from Julian’s throat, reverberating against the low gray sky.

Was there ever a time you thought you might simply perish without her
? For two years, he had adored her from a distance, thinking he might simply perish every time he saw her. Then he had seen her at Château la Claire and something deep inside had broken free, rising like Lazarus from the ashes of his soul. It was plain,
Julian thought hopelessly, that he had thought he might simply perish without her for a very long time. And what had he done? Ruined her.

Ah yes, Julian, know ye in his death the quality of love
 …

He knew it. He knew it like an arrow that pierced his heart and twisted about, up and down and around, torturing him unto death.

That arrow would not harm Sophie. God save him, if there was one thing he
must
do right, it was Sophie. That wretched girl needed him, whether she realized it or not, and he would gladly commend himself to hell if he could not keep her from harm.

C
LAUDIA
F
OUND
I
T
impossible to eat or sleep after Julian had dragged Sophie away. Alone in the dining room the following evening, she frowned at the thick slice of cake the footman Robert had served her, from which she had removed all the raisins and arranged them into a frowning face—with spectacles—on the edge of her plate.

She toyed with the notion of summoning Ann and Eugenie to tell them what Julian had done, but thought better of it. Such news was best delivered by The Rake himself. But
banishment
? It was so primitive! Sarah Cafferty had been banished to Cornwall amidst a highly publicized scandal—it was an abominable practice, demeaning to women everywhere. And as hard as she tried, Claudia just could not reconcile the man who had coldly forced Sophie into that chaise with the man whose eyes had betrayed the ravages of a loss so deep it pained him still.